#He's so horribly ugly I don't know how I made it through this drawing

[passwordispassword]

I love drawing ugly bitches

[satyricplotter]

pairing: dick grayson x reader

word count: 3.2k (i think?)

warnings: rape mention (as per dick's canon)

notes: i keep thinking of applying one of my favourite manga/manhwa tropes with dick specifically, because it works so well, but i don't particularly care to put in the work of setting up that it'd take for it to land as well as it could. maybe later. as it is, i'll give you the quick rundown because i spent two days writing it lol

something ugly about you has made you undeserving of romance. you have spent your entire life puzzling out what it is and how to fix it. nothing much is special about you: the matter’s far from isolation, or becoming any particular sort of pariah. perhaps that'd be easier to explain. no. people leave you alone, your friends cherish you, your family loves you. it is not that you have not known affection, but that you have and so when you crash against the wall that horrible first time, it hurts all the more.

nothing changes after that. there is always a limit to where your interest can reach, unnamed but palpable. a line you cannot cross. it seems to you as if the entire world has reached a silent consensus during a meeting to which your attendance was not required and your input unnecessary. why would it be? this is not about you. after all, your ability to love has not become impaired. you like people. you’ve fallen in love. but who has ever loved you back?

this one facet of life has been closed off to you entirely, and you’ve been chased away from all attempts to form a romantic bond with unspoken threats of shame and implications of disgust. (a bit much of a display just for the offense of being little old you. you come to regard the matter so as you grow older and start curating some self-respect. it still stings as badly as scrubbing your skin raw under hot water, but not all the loathing is directed inward nowadays.)

regardless, you’ve learnt that you are undesirable, and nothing you can say or do will change that. you must be content with the other shapes that love can take. nothing that you want matters whatsoever.

you meet dick grayson one summer evening under exceedingly normal circumstances. you do not know about heroes or rogues, no batmans or nightwings. the person that crosses the threshold is none other than dick grayson, the handsome young man. suspicion does not cross anybody’s mind, and if it does, it comes only a good couple of thoughts after his darling smile and shapely thighs.

obviously you like him immediately. what’s not to like? he’s gorgeous.

you react to him with the tense wariness of someone hardened by years of useless crushes. trying to avoid him. trying to be normal when you invariably cannot. it’s fine. it’ll be fine.

you still crush on him.

it’s inevitable, at this point. he’s too pretty, too smart, too kind not to draw you in. every interaction comes a rush of exhilarating fear. at times, you manage to subdue yourself into normalcy, hang out with him with as much naturalness as you can muster. but then he does something particularly attractive and you’re back in square one, shoulders drawn together and so short with him he probably gets emotional whiplash. it’s as exhausting for you as it must be for him, and he still reacts to it with grace. it doesn’t help.

through your concerted efforts to be normal, or at least appear as much, you and dick become friends. not great friends, mind you, but good enough that you start hanging out on your own without any of your mutual friends present. and you only spend about three hours total pondering the meaning behind the phrasing of his texts. that’s gotta be some form of progress, right?

he sits at a little table away from the window, and beams when you arrive. coffee’s on him and conversation’s on you. you’ve got more in common than you first thought, but you go back and forth between imagining it must be fate and squashing down delusion, telling yourself you’re blowing it out of proportion.

at one point in time, a beautiful, sultry-looking woman approaches the table.

you and dick tense immediately, like you both know what’s coming. sure as ever, the woman smiles and asks for his number. you look away politely, sip at your drink. the proximity makes it useless to pretend you’re not eavesdropping (though it can hardly be called that when she came to your table), but you take care not to make any faces that’d give away the little storm brewing in your stomach.

this sucks, you think, glancing away from dick’s bland mask of politeness. all of it is hopeless and it still sucks.

you think about running off to the bathroom, get as far as shifting on your seat when dick shoots you a troubled look. the woman’s been at it for a little more than is appropriate. a minute or so more of insistence and she’ll be stretching the boundaries of her own dignity too far. you look away with pressed lips and move your hands under the table.

your alarm beeps.

“oh, shit, dude,” you gasp, hoping to land somewhere in the ballpark of realism. “It’s almost seven. we’ve got to go, or else we’re gonna miss the movie.”

dick gives the woman his apologies and swiftly runs out of the café with you hot on his heels. on the way to the movie theatre, you wanna ask the million questions running through your head—why’d he reject her? didn’t he like her? did he not think she was pretty? who is pretty for him? what’s his taste in partners? is he seeing someone?—but you know it’s a futile endeavor. what will you even get out of that? it’s clear dick didn’t enjoy the interaction either. you make small talk about something else, trying to draw his attention away from whatever conflicted feelings he’s moored in right now. just because you like him doesn’t mean you can’t be a good friend to him.

it’s a short walk. soon enough, he’s all smiles again. in the line for the popcorn stand, another two girls come up to him, this time much younger than you two. he’s nicer with them than he was before, but he rejects them all unequivocally.

“doesn’t it annoy you?” you can’t help but ask. when dick raises an elegant eyebrow, you panic and backpedal so hard you might as well have driven a truck through a storefront.

“a bit,” dick says, ignoring your rambling. you shut your mouth firmly closed when he gives you a sidelong glance, and continues, so very casually, “it’s worse when it comes from a friend rather than a stranger. so many people just try to befriend me because they’re looking for a relationship, or they want access to my body. it’s… tiring. i’m sure you can relate.”

“ah,” you say. your tongue feels numb, but you’re burning up under the weight of his gaze. “no. I don’t really get harassed like that or, um, asked out.”

“huh.” dick blinks. “really?”

“yeah,” you force out. blessedly, the attendant calls your attention. you jostle dick forward. “look, it’s our turn.”

dick orders popcorn. you get a large slushy that you’re not gonna finish. you make him pay. he complies with no question. inside the theatre, you spend all two hours and sixteen minutes of the showing in absolute silence. it is not so strange to be fixated on the movie, but you’re usually a little more chatty. under normal circumstances, you’d eagerly take the opportunity to lean closer to him, whisper something about the main character’s penchant for gummies and its relation to the degradation of the American working class. he’d glance at you and thoughtfully smile, and you’d catch a whiff of his cologne when you straightened.  for the rest of the movie, the twinkle of his eye as he forwent the film for your conversation would be all you’d think about.

such is not the case now.

you can tell when you’ve been summarily dismissed. in fact, you appreciate when people are subtle about their rejections. it’s always all the more humiliating when they feel the need to bring it out into the open, like your affections have been so blatant they must be commented on, debated.

the rest of the evening is spent convincing yourself that this is good, that this means it’ll be better for yourself going forward. you’ll be less distracted, if anything. dick’s attempts to discuss the movie with you afterwards fall flat, as the only thing you really want is to get home and stare at your ceiling.

when you’ve reached your apartment door, and are turning to enter after a hurried goodbye, dick calls your name.

“look,” he says, running a hand through his hair unsurely. “I don’t usually do this.”

oh, no. dread fills you up. he’s breaking up with you and you’re not even dating.

you swallow. “dick—”

“I like you a lot,” he interrupts. your teeth clang the way you shut up so fast. in fact, you feel a little dizzy. he continues before you can even process that first sentence. “I think you and I could be really good friends, and I’d love if we could continue seeing each other to, you know, hang out and talk. I do truly appreciate your insight. is that okay?”

you blink fast some three or four times. it must be comical, the face you’re making, because the corner of dick’s lips pulls upward despite him trying to keep a serious air.

“I thought we were already friends…?” you say, at a loss for anything else to say.

“yes!” he beams. “we are.”

“okay,” you respond, perplexed. this is so far out of left field. “um. text me when you’re home?”

“yeah.” he grins. gorgeous grin, to be sure, but why? “for sure.”

“cool.” you give him an awkward thumbs up and scurry inside.               

it is… baffling. you spend all of that night wide awake and pondering. dick must’ve misconstrued something, or either you missed a crucial step in your relationship. otherwise the end to that evening makes absolutely no sense. the only thing you can conjure up is that dick must reject a lot of people who, like he said, try to befriend him only to get with him or worse, only to fuck, and it’s not very likely most of those people stay in his life once it is clear he won’t budge on the matter. the fact that you didn’t immediately turn your back on him must’ve come to him as a pleasant surprise.

it’s sad. like, really fucking sad, actually.

that very sadness—and the memory of his handsome, bright grin—turns your outlook inside out. why do you like dick? clearly he’s got the looks and the personality, but do you really know him? what do you know of him? you make a list of things you’ve learned about him in the short time of knowing him. it’s not long.

you come to the conclusion, mortifyingly so, that you don’t, in fact, like dick grayson. that, if anything, the only thing you like is the idea of the boyfriend he could be, which is not the boyfriend that he is (you know nothing about that). it’s the social acumen inherent in bagging such a hottie, and the sparkling sexual attraction bound around it, that really prompt your crushing. it’s not dick as a person. frankly, you think, a little hysterically, could be anyone, really. didn’t even have to be dick. he was just there, the handsomest person in the room. an apt target for the voracious hunger of your heart. you’d mooned and mooned over him for ages and it turns out it wasn’t even about him.

god, you’re such an asshole.

in penance, you endeavor to actually get to know dick without the embarrassment of a crush between you. and it does, in fact, help. dick’s eager to get to know you too, now that you’ve both formally acknowledged you’re friends (such a weird practice, fresh out of kindergarten behavior, but, as you soon find out, dick is weird about plenty and not entirely well-adjusted as an adult). you go on outings together, attend one another’s events, text sporadically throughout the day. you learn which video games dick likes, you tell him which movies are your favorites. it’s fun and light and uncomplicated now that you’ve freed yourself from the constraints of romantic expectation.

not everything’s good. dick’s got bad habits, which grate on you. is it so difficult to put the stupid toilet seat down? can he not learn to chop vegetables in chunks smaller than an elephant’s baby teeth? can he, for the love of god, stop yelling at the tv during horror films?  he’s got some serious character flaws, too. you find about those a lot more slowly, but they don’t cause too much trouble.

you fight one or two times due to dick suddenly abandoning you in the middle of an outing with no regard for your safety, and his tendency to get pissy instead of saying whatever’s upsetting him upfront when he knows, you’ve warned him that you’re stupidly thoughtless about your actions at times. all those are things you wouldn’t have come to experience if you hadn’t given the man a chance to actually be a friend. it’s kind of heartening, actually, to have come so far.

sometimes your crush rears up its head in the middle of nowhere. it’s kind of hopeless by now, but you can’t help the fact that dick’s attractive. neither can he, anyway. you just watch him sometimes, the way the sun hits his eyes, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. it makes you go tongue-tied and silly, but the moment always passes. it has to pass. you struggle against it, recall every time dick has upset you or insulted you in one way or the other. some days it’s easy as buttering toast, others you can barely think around the searing heat of your desire. those are bad days for all involved.

one evening, when you’ve grown close enough you’ve begun to think about dick grayson as maybe, possibly, only-if-he-says-so-too your closest friend, he tells you about catalina.

he does it over the phone line, during your almost-nightly calls. over the months, you’ve taken up the practice of teasing him about handsome people he clearly finds attractive in a desperate bid to divert attention and train yourself for when you have to do it for real. this is not one of such cases, and as soon as you realize this, you sober up immediately.

he says it so simply. talks about it like it’s just a hazard of life. there’s a tight hardness at the edge of his voice, but other than that, he speaks like it’s normal Tuesday for him.

not so much for you.

“is it okay if I come over?” you request over the line.

for a moment, the only thing you hear is dick breathe. “yeah,” he croaks, and you’re bolting out the room immediately.

you don’t know how to react to this other than with a shaky sort of desperation. it’s been years since it happened. there’s nothing you can do about it now. there’s something big he’s leaving out, which you notice but don’t point out. a big lump forms on your throat as he speaks. dick tells you when you arrive that the woman is behind bars for an unrelated crime and the only way you stop yourself from wishing ill on her out loud is the fact he looks so politely disjointed, you know your fury will only startle him.

and you feel it so frightfully, the fury.

you love dick, you realize. beyond the fancies and the underlying attraction, you love dick as a person, as a friend. he’s one of yours now.

the evening morphs into a casual sleepover. you don’t interrogate him, and he seems torn between wanting to say more and grateful you’re not prying. you keep yourself open to the possibility, but also try to comfort him as best you can. you make dinner. you put on a movie. you talk and joke and quietly watch. he invites you on the bed with him because his couch is a nightmare to sleep in and his guest room is “unavailable”, whatever that means. you don’t even think about it, just follow.

lying together under the sheets with the lights off, the rest of your feelings bubble up to the surface.

you ask before you clasp his hands between yours and look into his shiny eyes in the darkness. you try to tell him, how this single evening and all those that came before turned over your loyalty to him. how he can come to you for anything he ever wants or needs—your ear, your care, your protection. how much you appreciate his trust and how much you wish you could make anything, everything better for him. how much he deserves it.

“I’ll never leave you now,” you vow with fierce conviction, searching his eyes for any signs of doubt. any other time you would’ve questioned this statement with the sheer weight of infinite possibilities, but not now. tonight, truth is absolute and in your hand. “they will never take me from you. I will always be on your side, by your side. i’m serious, grayson. you’re not getting rid of me.”

a glimpse of  a watery smile is the only thing you see before dick throws his arms around you and buries his face in your neck. “couldn’t dream of it,” he whispers into your hair.

you hug him back as tightly as he is, murmuring platitudes and running your fingers through his hair. he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of your arms. he feels secure enough to do so, and you feel both proud and nauseous about it considering the secret you keep.

that he’s told you this at all, that he’s trusted you with such a thing—you know how big it is. you know you can never betray him.

you consider your inherent monstrosity, that little unspeakable thing that bars your from that special kind of love. you understand, firmly, that any desire you feel will never be received eagerly and joyfully. not by him or anyone else.  in silent fury, you vow to die before you be like her, to bestow upon this man your grotesque wanting with no regard for his own desire, for the integrity of his being.

that night, you press a kiss to dick grayson’s hair and let him go forever.

.

the next morning, dick watches as you leave. you turn back one last time to wave at him from the parking lot, a bright smile and tussled hair you didn’t bother to brush. you wear out the clothes he lent you to sleep, so harried last night in your haste to come over that you’d simply forgotten to pack pajamas. he suspects you hadn’t planned to stay the night at all, but he’d been damned if he’d let you go yesterday.

you’re pretty. he’s always thought so, but this morning, you’re prettier than ever. it’s the radiance of your heart shining through.

I will always be by your side, you’d said last night. you’d meant it completely, then. dick had been dazed, overcome. he couldn’t take the brightness of your eyes, the surety of your affection. he’d buried his head in your neck and fallen asleep breathing in the smell of your shampoo. in the morning, he’d woken up with your fingers carding through his hair and the gentle warmth of your body against his.

that was nice. he wonders what he has to do to make it happen again.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Better | Jisung Imagine #4

Title: Better

Genre: Angst

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, mental struggles

Word Count: 867

Author's Note: I wrote this last week I think, and I apologize for posting something so dark again. I do have some lighter stuff I plan to write in the near future. Something I noticed in writing these type of stories is kind of me just talking to myself through the characters. I don't know, I guess it's kinda selfish and pathetic. But I wrote this from the perspective of someone witnessing their loved one going through a hard time, and I could see Jisung in this specific scenario. Thank you for reading and if it can comfort any of you, then I hope it does ^ ^

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With a sigh, Jisung drowsily let his phone drop to the coffee table, retiring from the mobile game he had been playing. He then rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, seeking your presence. Mere seconds later he caught the sight of you gracefully packing away the leftovers from dinner into clear airtight containers. 

Usually, watching you perform these tasks with such ease brought comfort to him. Oftentimes Jisung felt you were more like his mom than his girlfriend. Despite him being older by two years, you consistently made an effort to take care of him. Whether it be through doing his laundry on the weekends, buying him bunggeobang when he was having a bad day, or when you made him home-cooked meals so that he didn’t eat take-out all the time. Your actions were always so nurturing, and your eyes always brimmed with joy as he ate.

However, observing you tonight didn’t bring him the usual sense of domestic tranquility that usually filled the atmosphere. Instead, there was this deep, sadness that gnawed at his stomach and traveled up his throat.

It was the way you momentarily paused what you were doing. Then the slight hesitation that crossed your expression before your hand gripped the edge of your sleeve to vigorously drag the fabric up and down your forearm. Jisung despised how familiar that habit had become to him, one he had witnessed too many times before now. Your actions could only be a sign of the physical manifestation of the pain you carried as a result of the endless thunderstorm in your mind.

Jisung wanted to say something, he always did in these moments. But each time his tongue stilled, because he was weighed down by his own emotions. He knew what it was like to struggle mentally, yet he couldn’t think of the best way to express his concern without sounding like he was judging you.

However, Jisung knew he couldn’t stand around doing nothing. He stayed still for a moment though, watching you return to collecting the containers and turning around to store them in his refrigerator. Once the fridge door was closed again, your brows furrowed in frustration one more as you rubbed your arm again. You seemed more annoyed with the irritation beneath your skin than the fact that you had intentionally hurt yourself. This realization only made Jisung’s heart sink further.

After taking a deep breath, Jisung decided now was the time to act. His footsteps were barely audible against the tiled floor. Walking up from behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist in a gentle back-hug. Your body initially tensed at the unexpected affection. But once you recognized it was just your boyfriend, you instinctively leaned back against him.

A few seconds passed before Jisung cautiously extended his arm out to tug at your sleeve. When you didn’t say anything, he slowly rolled it up, the kitchen light immediately drawing attention to the angry red lines scattered across your pale skin. Just a glimpse made his heart break into a million pieces.

Jisung felt your head lower, diverting your gaze to the dark countertop. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, biting your lip. “That you have to see this horrible, ugly side of me.”

Following your quiet apology, Jisung gently turned you around to face him. His heart broke at the emptiness in your expression, almost as if you were used to this sort of reaction. Even though you were standing in his arms, there was this distance you were trying to maintain with him. More than anything, Jisung wanted to reach out, pull you close and never let go. Never let you go, ever.

“I just want you to get better, (Y/n),” his voice wavered, unable to suppress his emotions any longer. However, Jisung knew it was almost futile to say these words to you. Deep down the both of you knew that you didn’t share the same desire for yourself as he did.

Yet, tears started to form when you managed to meet his gaze. Most likely because you could see the heartbreak in his eyes, he thought. Then, unexpectedly, you were the one embracing him, burying your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry Jisung,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his sweatshirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Those words left your mouth repeatedly between your sobs. It didn’t take long for Jisung to feel his own tears stream down his cheeks, mingling with yours. The two of you stood there, holding each other tighter than you ever had before. Although he knew you weren’t on the same page as him, the silent understanding that you loved each other was the connection.

And as you cried together in the middle of the kitchen at 10:37 p.m., all Jisung could hope for was that showing his support for you more often would do something. He knew that he couldn’t take your pain away entirely, but in these moments all you needed was someone to hold you. He needed to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Maybe, and just maybe, his love would be enough to encourage you to get better.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[carbuncle-paws]

I've made a pokemon AU for Peter :3 yaaaay! Doubt I'm the first to draw him as a sneasler but I'm not gonna let it stop me.

Some information!

Sneasler ♂ lv???

Dark / Poison Ability: Insomnia (might change this) Lonely nature + quick tempered Main Attacks: Slash, Lash Out, Dire Claw/Poison Jab, Hone Claws/Nasty Plot Lesser used: Bite/Crunch/Jaw Lock, Close Combat, Thief, Endure, Spite

Design notes:

Very tall (6'5'') and thin, even by species standards.

Completely hairless (and featherless) and by extension, no facial or feet markings. Torso and poison are discolored (both blue)

Ripped off both his forehead and chest gems, there are faint scars where they used to be. The one on his chest is covered by a gem you gave him.

Wears a hood made from a Mightyena's pelt.

The back of his claws (the blue part) is razor sharp, they're basically gigantic knives. If getting backhanded by them doesn't kill you, the poison probably will.

From a distance or in dark lighting, he can be easily mistaken as a human. He can also speak our language (just like meowth), his voice is raspy and a bit deep, perhaps from an injury.

The PeterAU x Reader story outline below, if you're interested!

Character/Story notes:

(OOOPS this sort of became a whole story teehee oh well. This is basically what my outlines look like but I probably won't make this into an actual fic. So, enjoy!)

He has no name, but wouldn't mind if you gave him one.

He grew up with a fascination for humans, and even learned to speak our language, but was betrayed by the ones he had trusted. He almost died, and was left hideously disfigured in the eyes of his species (furless/featherless and discolored). For a long time he hated all humans, and would murder any unfortunate enough to enter his territory. Until he met you.

He saves you from being eaten by a pack of Mightyenas, which goes against his usual hatred for your species. He stalks you through the mountain forests for a while, thinking that he'd gather reasons why you deserve to die so he can savor killing you himself.

Instead... he gets attached, and that infuriates him. From the shadows, completely unbeknownst to you, he helps you return to civilization. He looked forward to forgetting you, and going back to the worldview he's comfortable with.

But then you keep coming back to his territory, which is bad for two big reasons. He doesn't like the effect you have on him, and the area is dangerous... he doesn't want you getting hurt. So, without revealing himself, he tries multiple times to show you how his mountains are no place for a human. Nothing works. Ironically, he also does things to protect you from real threats.

His fleeting attachment for you grows into a burning obsession in time, and he wants so badly to interact with you. But not only is he a pokemon... he is also ugly.

One day he slips up, and you spot a glimpse of him through the trees, but it's too shaded and you mistake him for a person, and you call out to him. Instantly understanding what you've mistaken him for, he tentatively responds, but refuses to leave his hiding place. You figure he's just shy, but are happy to see another person who isn't afraid to visit these mountains, which have a horrible reputation. Probably because he's been killing people, but you don't know that. It's a shame, because you find it so beautiful up here...

Visiting him becomes routine for you. He says some really weird things, but the way he views the world is so unique and refreshing, and you form a fast friendship. He is very stubborn about remaining out of sight, but does start altering his appearance so he can stop worrying that the occasional glimpse you do get might give him away. He tailors a crude Mightyena hood for himself to obscure his face and ears.

He becomes desperate to spend more time with you, especially when you start talking about moving away someday soon, away from the town full of people who don't understand you. He wants to go with you... he wants to be your pokemon, but thinks you won't accept him as he is. His past with humans has him believing that trainers only value beautiful or strong pokemon. So he starts doing crazy things to prove his worth. Like, killing the strongest pokemon in the area, and leading you to its corpse to gauge your reaction. He hoped you'd be in awe and wonder what could've felled such a beast, and then he would reveal that it was him... but instead you were terrified, and sad for the dead pokemon.

It shakes him, makes him hate himself so much more. If a monster isn't what you want... then he'll just have to become human for you. He destroys the parts of himself that makes him different from you, starting by ripping off the gems on his chest and forehead. His claws will be next... but the pain and blood loss from just the gems is too much, and almost kills him. You find him while he's passed out, and although you don't recognize that he's who you've been speaking to, you rush him into town and save his life.

He wakes up in a pokemon center surrounded by strange humans, and freaks the fuck out. He wounds one of the nurses badly and would've killed someone he didn't hear you screaming at him to stop. The future he built up in his head, of either becoming your pokemon or close enough to a human that you might accept him, shatters in an instant. He runs, breaking out of the building and mindlessly fleeing into the mountains. You're shocked by his reaction, and something about the silhouette he makes as he escapes through the trees is familiar...

The people in the town know that he must be the monster that's been killing people, and at the same time, you realize that he's actually the boy from the mountains. Your dear friend. An armed mob storms into his territory intent on revenge, despite your protests. They locate his den and start a fire to smoke him out or kill him via burning or suffocation.

You had followed them, and when they start the fire you try to physically stop them. They're stronger though and throw you to the ground, yelling insults at you for defending such a loathsome creature. They kick you into the den so you can burn with him.

You hurry further inside but can't seem to find him... instead, he finds you. He lunges from the shadows behind you, not realizing who you are, pinning you to the ground and snarling in your face. He would have ripped your jugular out with his teeth if you hadn't wrapped your arms around him and hugged tight, instead of fighting him off like he expected. It confuses him and he thrashes to get away but you don't let go, and he slowly comes to his senses, realizing that it's you.

Why are you here, after everything he did? That he's done, his reputation as a people killer? You know who and what he is now, but you're still here and the way you hold him, whispering soothingly into his ear... Is this really happening or has he finally lost his mind? He breaks down and squeezes you back, sobbing into the neck he'd been seconds away from tearing his teeth into.

Smoke starts robbing his den of breathable air and brings the both of you out of the moment, forcing you to confront the situation at hand. You try to run back to the exit first, but it's engulfed in flames. He takes you further inside, to where he usually sleeps, and light shines through a crack in the rocks above. He pushes you up to it and you crawl out, but he's too big to follow and he urges to go without him. This is the fate he deserves.

But you refuse, and start tearing at the stone and dirt above the opening with your bare hands. It finally sinks in, seeing you desperately trying to save him, just how much you really care and maybe... maybe that means his life might be worth living after all. That he deserves another chance.

He joins your efforts and uses his claws to pry apart more of the stone. It takes a gargantuan effort, and he starts to pass out as the oxygen in his den dwindles. You grab onto his arm and pull with all of your strength, and against the odds are able to drag him out.

You're both exhausted and completely out of breath, but you drag him into another embrace anyways. You tell him to never ever sacrifice himself like that again, that he's so important to you and you'd be devastated to lose him. You ask him... if he would go with you, away from here, and although the strong emotions that overtake him have him choking up too much to respond with words, the way he holds you back is all the confirmation you need.

Together the two of you travel far, far away, going on an adventure that explores the best and worst that humankind has to offer, and form an unbreakable bond.

Aaaaand that's it! Sorry if it's pretty cheesy hahahaha it's just what my brain went for in the short amount of time I wrote this up. Again, probably not going to write an actual fic out of this (or at least I won't consider it until my current one is finished) but I had a lot of fun and it was a nice little break before delving back into Angels Fall. Hope you guys liked it too >w</

[universaln0b0dy]

I'm not special (Rengoku Kyojuro x fem! Reader)

《Summary 》: You were known for being shy and akward, but polite nonetheless and being a village simpleton. Not incredibly pretty, nor talented at anything, so how come you snagged a Hashira?

《Note》: So the reader is insecure. (Cringe nicknames Ig)

Rengoku Kyojuro:

It was a wonder to say the least. Your parents had already given up the thought of ever seeing you married, but the man with the colourful hair saved them that sadness.

You had met him a few times, the first time was when he saved the village and a few times after, though you weren't sure if that was enough to consider you a possible bride.

But since you liked him there was a marriage and you swore by god, you were the happiest girl alive. Kyojuro really did love you you sometimes couldn't help but wonder why?

Your food was not the best not the worst and you knew that he in general enjoyed every bite of food, so it wasn't that. It wasn't your art, most definitely not, it wasn't like you were horrible at it, but you also weren't good and everytime you passed a mirror you were reminded why it also couldn't be your appearance.

You dropped the knife you were holding with a long sigh. You made dinner like always and waited for your husband to return, he had been on a mission for a few days now and you were starting to get worried. You decide to stop cooking for a minute and just stare at the wooden wall in front of you.

"Come here my love! It is raining! I don't want you to catch a cold."

You had decided to eat outside with him that day and it just began pouring. Your husband had just laughed using his white Cape(?) to shield you from the rain. Both of you had sprinted back to the house, accidentally forgetting the food outside.

It was one of many, many happy memories you shared with him, but all of it was tinted grey at the moment you realised he probably only married you out of pity. He never made you feel that way, but there was no better explanation to why he would take you as his bride.

Tears start dropping out of your eyes and a sob escaped your mouth. You turned towards the window, only to realise you also looked ugly when you were crying.

You didn't know how long you just sat there, staring at the table, watching your tears fall onto the wooden surface, as the door suddenly opens. You knew who it was without even having to see him, immediately you stand up ready to greet him. "[NAME]?" His loud voice boomed through the whole house.

You were about to call out to him until you remembered you had cried and still where. You didn't want him to see you like this, you didn't want him to worry about you, or even worse pity you.

You decide to continue cutting vegetables for dinner.

"[Name]? Are you alright?" Kyojuro walks into the kitchen. He couldn't see your face, which was good, but you were also scared of talking. What if your voice gave away you had been crying.

"My love, are you mad at me?" He mutters (loudly), hugging you from behind. You didn't want him to think that. "No..l- no, I'm not angry."

Your voice sounded horrible, just as you had expected. "[Name], have you been crying?" He slowly uses his hand to turn your face towards him.

This was the first time you saw him worried. Usually he was a smiling little ray of sunshine, but now? He looked so sad. "Dear, who made my special wife cry?"

He said special. Normally this wording would have made you laugh, but now the only thing you could say was: "I'm not special."

The silence was deafening, your husband just looked at you as if you were crazy. "What do you mean my love?" You didn't want him to look at you with that reaction, you wanted him to tell you that you were right and that he would leave, but the flame haired man didn't. He clasped your dominant hand and you sigh, wiping your face with the other.

"How I say it... I can't cook, draw, paint or sing. I'm not strong, I don't have any defined personality traits-" You can't continue as you loudly sob, shoulders shaking as you breath in heavily.

Kyojuro doesn't say anything else, pulling you into a hug. "My love, have I ever told you why I married you?" You shake your head slightly. "Than I will know. You might not remember, but after my fight I was terribly injured. Most of the people in your village didn't trust me, so they didn't come closer, but you ignored everything you were doing and rushed towards me, yelling at the people to help me. They listened to you."

He softly runs a hand through your hair/ over your head. "You have the ability to make people trust you, no matter how you act, people will listen to you. You help others and you are willing to use every bit of knowledge you have to make sure someone else is also safe."

You had never noticed that about yourself. Maybe you were too blinded by what you weren't, to see that. He pulls you even closer. "I asked to meet you out of curiosity and as a thank you, I expected you to be humble and quiet but once I asked you about your intrests you rambled about it, you were blooming in what you knew. That was the first time I realised I loved you."

You look up at him. "The first time?" Kyojuro grins his typicall bright smile. "There were a bunch of other times, for example the first time I heard you laugh, or when you accidentally burnt the food, or...."

You couldn't believe it, all those things he pointed out where things you saw as flaws. You look at your husband, how proudly he talked about you. You had fallen in love with him before, but now you were head over heels in a sink hole.

You grab Kyojuros face, he is still talking his eyes closed. You softly pull him closer to you, giving him him a kiss, which he immediately answers by also pulling you closer to him.

You slowly pull away. "I love you, my special husband."

"I love you too, my special husband."

[thunderbone]

David Bowie and Peter Schilling's Major Tom

English Hi guys, today I decided to share with you a series of fanarts that I've made over the years. In 1969, David Bowie released Space Oddity, one of the best songs of his musical career. The song is about an astronaut named Major Tom who went to space but never returned to Earth. After the song's resounding success, Bowie decided to continue using his character in other songs, such as Ashes to Ashes, Hallo Spaceboy and Blackstar. In 1982, Peter Schilling released Major Tom (Coming Home), a song that made him world famous, becoming an even bigger success than Space Oddity. The song is a reinterpretation of Space Oddity, where astronaut Major Tom manages to return to Earth, providing a happy ending for Bowie's character. Yes, both singers used the same character in their songs and after Schilling's song was released, several other singers also ended up using Bowie's character in their songs, either reinterpreting one of his songs, or telling a new story for the character and so on. Schilling's music really marked my childhood and remains one of my favorite rock songs, but Bowie's music is certainly an absolute classic, being a bubblegum song that keeps playing in my mind because it's so catchy, It's also one of my favorite rock songs. Anyway, in 2019, I made the first fanart of these two singers, in which they are representing Major Tom wearing astronaut clothes.

Furthermore, this was also one of the first drawings I outlined before painting and as you can see, the outline is very crooked, horrible hahaha Not to mention the poorly done painting right lol In 2020, I made the second fanart of David Bowie and Peter Schilling. It was supposed to be a realistic drawing, but everything went wrong LMFAO

Think about an ugly drawing, it's definitely one of the worst drawings I've ever done in my entire life… Like, look at David Bowie, I was supposed to aim at him but I ended up getting right on Kevin Bacon XD

In 2021, I made the third fanart. It was the second time I tried to make a realistic drawing of David Bowie and Peter Schilling, but this time it was a thousand times better than the previous fanart, which was already shit.

I'm not very good at making realistic drawings, but this drawing here is good for a beginner. And this was the last fanart I made of these two singers in 2023.

I had the idea of doing a redraw/remake of the first fanart, but instead of doing an anime drawing, I decided to use my "semi-realistic" style, a style that reminds me of comic books. In addition to drawing Bowie and Schilling, I also had the idea of drawing two furry characters to represent them, so I decided to draw two characters from Lackadaisy: Zib and Joey. After I made this fanart, I really wanted to paint, but my painting is very simple (it's as if a child had painted all my drawings) and I wanted a really cool painting, a well-done painting, you know. Even a friend of mine who does amazing digital arts was going to paint my drawing, but unfortunately she couldn't do it because she was very busy. Almost a year later, I was finally able to find someone who was available to paint my drawing, which in this case is Camila Vytória. This isn't the first time we've done a collab together, as we've done other collabs since 2022, where I drew and she painted the drawing. She is a super talented artist who makes realistic art and watercolor paintings, as well as being a very nice and kind person. After she painted my fanart, I saw that she made a small mistake. She painted Joey using the wrong color LMFAO Despite that, I had the idea that this cat was no longer Joey, now he's my new OC. Then meet Cosmo, a feline astronaut who loves traveling and adventuring through space. I still don't know if he'll be a Lackadaisy OC or a completely original character with no connection to this comic, but I'm still thinking about it. Thank you very much for doing another collab with me, you don't know how grateful I am for that. Seriously, I really loved the painting of this drawing, it was incredibly beautiful ❤️ If you want to see her work, click here: https://www.instagram.com/vcamilart/

Well, I hope you liked these fanarts I made over the years 😊

Português (Brasil) Oi pessoal, hoje resolvi compartilhar com vocês uma série de fanarts que eu fiz ao longo dos anos. Em 1969, David Bowie lançou Space Oddity, uma das melhores músicas de sua carreira musical. A música é sobre um astronauta chamado Major Tom que foi viajar pro espaço mas nunca mais voltou pra Terra. Após o sucesso estrondoso da música, Bowie resolveu continuar a usar seu personagem em outras músicas, como Ashes to Ashes, Hallo Spaceboy e Blackstar. Em 1982, Peter Schilling lançou Major Tom (Coming Home), uma música que o tornou mundialmente famoso, fazendo um sucesso ainda maior que Space Oddity. A música é uma releitura de Space Oddity, onde o astronauta Major Tom consegue voltar pra Terra, sendo um final feliz pro personagem de Bowie. Sim, ambos os cantores usaram o mesmo personagem em suas músicas e depois que a música de Schilling lançou, vários outros cantores também acabaram usando o personagem de Bowie em suas músicas, seja fazendo uma releitura de uma de suas músicas, ou contando uma nova história pro personagem e etc. A música de Schilling marcou muito a minha infância e continua sendo uma das minhas músicas de rock favoritas, mas a música de Bowie com certeza é um clássico absoluto, sendo uma música chiclete que não para de tocar em minha mente de tão cativante que é, sendo também uma das minhas músicas de rock favoritas. Enfim, em 2019, fiz a primeira fanart desses dois cantores, no qual estão representando o Major Tom usando roupas de astronauta.

Além disso, esse também foi um dos primeiros desenhos que contornei antes de pintar e como deram pra notar, o contorno tá muito torto, horrível ksksksksksksks Sem contar a pintura mal feita XD Essa primeira fanart era pra ser anime, mas acho que não deu muito certo rsrs Em 2020, fiz a segunda fanart do David Bowie e Peter Schilling. Era pra ser um desenho realista, mas deu tudo errado sksksksks

Pensa num desenho feio, com certeza é um dos piores desenhos que já fiz em toda a minha vida… Tipo, olha pro David Bowie, era pra mirar nele mas acabei acertando no Kevin Bacon XD Em 2021, fiz a terceira fanart. Foi a segunda vez que tentei fazer um desenho realista do David Bowie e do Peter Schilling, só que desta vez ficou mil vezes melhor do que a fanart anterior, que já era uma merda.

Eu não sou muito bom em fazer desenhos realistas, mas esse desenho aqui até que ficou bom pra um iniciante. E essa foi a última fanart que fiz desses dois cantores em 2023.

Tive a ideia de fazer um redesenho/remake da primeira fanart, só que ao invés de fazer um desenho em anime, resolvi usar o meu estilo "semi realista", um estilo que lembra de HQs. Além de eu ter desenhado Bowie e Schilling, também tive a ideia de desenhar dois personagens furry pra representá-los, então resolvi desenhar dois personagens de Lackadaisy: Zib e Joey. Depois que fiz essa fanart, eu queria muito pintar, mas a minha pintura é muito simples (é como se uma criança tivesse pintado todos os meus desenhos) e eu queria uma pintura muito foda, uma pintura bem feita, sabe. Inclusive uma amiga minha que faz incríveis artes digitais ia pintar o meu desenho, mas infelizmente ela não pôde fazer isso por estar bastante ocupada. Quase um ano depois, eu finalmente pude achar alguém que estivesse disponível pra pintar o meu desenho, que no caso é a Camila Vytória. Essa não é a primeira vez que fizemos uma collab juntos, pois nós já fizemos outras collabs desde 2022, onde eu desenhava e ela pintava o desenho. Ela é uma artista super talentosa que faz artes realistas e pinturas em aquarela, além de ser uma pessoa muito legal e gentil. Depois que ela pintou a minha fanart, vi que ela cometeu um pequeno erro. Ela pintou o Joey usando uma cor errada ksksksksksksksks Apesar disso, tive a ideia desse gato não ser mais o Joey, agora ele é o meu novo OC. Então conheçam Cosmo, um astronauta felino que adora viajar e se aventurar pelo espaço. Eu ainda não sei se ele vai ser um Lackadaisy OC ou um personagem totalmente original sem qualquer ligação com essa HQ, mas ainda estou pensando nisso. Muito obrigado por fazer mais uma collab comigo, não sabe o quão sou grato por isso. Sério, eu amei demais a pintura desse desenho, ficou incrivelmente lindo ❤️ Caso queiram conhecer o trabalho dela, cliquem aqui: https://www.instagram.com/vcamilart/

Bom, espero que tenham gostado dessas fanarts que fiz ao longo dos anos 😊

[definegodliness]

Swinging

Short story (1282 words).

I was having breakfast at Bob's Intercontinental Swinging Club, as I tend to do, each Saturday morning. They've got great home-made sandwiches. Horrendous coffee, though.

I suspect Donna, Bob's wife, reheats the leftover coffee from the day before, to then add some fresh brew, that is so criminally strong it'll have a spoon standing upright in your mug, to mask the taste. Any taste.

Still, Bob's is the only place I know where you can still smoke indoors, so what do I care. I was just about to start my second sandwich, when I saw Bob waft through the streaks and plumes of nicotine blue, approaching my window side table.

"Hey, Bob."

He sat down at my table. Bob never has to ask. I offered him a cigarette, which he denied. And from his front-side pocket he fetched a small box of cigarellos. He lit one with a match, inhaled deeply, and, then, let out a big, tear-inducing column of a sigh. He was evidently feeling heavy, so I tried to lighten the mood:

"Damn, Biff — I call him Biff because Bob looks like Old Man Biff from the Back to the Future movies — what do they put in those; asphalt and conifer?"

This caused a faint smile, before he took another pensive draw.

"So, eh, how's business?", I leaned forward over the table, interested, and immediately drew back due to my elbows sticking to yesterday's beer.

"Not great, McFly, not great."

"Yeah, I noticed customer amounts dwindling. What is up with that?", I lifted my sandwich off the plate, "Can't be these, Donna still aces them."

"No, no. People still love those. And you can smoke indoors. The cafeteria's fine, but I just can't seem to get people excited for swinging anymore."

"Ludicrous. I can't think of anything more exciting."

I closed my eyes and thought of yesterday's Friday Swinging Night, letting a grin curl my mouth. I don't know if I spoke or whispered.

"It's just so… satisfying."

For sure, though, I then once more leaned forward over the table, overcoming its stickiness for the sake of importance. And, solemnly, I added:

"Come on, Biff, I'm sure it's just a temporary slump. I've been coming here for years and years. Swinging is timeless. I know it's different, now, then when Pops started in the 60's, but when you took over, the club went intercontinental. That's a great feat. Besides, I mean, I'm half this club's age, but you and Donna picked me up, and pulled me into swinging. I'm sure we can do this for the next generation."

"Frankly, Mark — wait, no McFly? — I think that's the problem."

"¿Que?"

"Guys, like you… you are the problem."

I spat out my coffee.

"Awful, isn't it?

"Yes", I muttered, wiping my mouth with my palm, to then swiftly and frantically brush the coffee grounds from my teeth with my index finger.

"But I am also shocked! How can you say such a thing? I'm your most loyal customer. AND your friend."

"You're also very conservative."

"That's not true. I was the first to laud you for omitting Family Swings. I am definitely not for everything staying the same."

"Yeah, but that's just because they made you queasy…"

I pulled an ugly face, thinking of Family Swings. Horrible occasions. I didn't need to say a thing. Bob was right.

And so he continued:

"… So don't act like you're all progressive. You always go for the same. Hey, the older they get, the more you love 'em."

"What can I say? I like mine vintage. They feel better. Move better."

I leaned backwards and crossed my arms.

"They make better noises, too. Heck, they make sound, Bob! Do you know how unsatisfying silence is?"

Bob frowned, and shook his head. Clearly unimpressed by my arguments. So I continued my passionate plea:

"I mean, come on, you know I'm loud. Don't you know how awkward I feels when I'm alone at that? I need them to be louder than me!"

Bob just took another draw of his cigarello and blew out a deep sigh of disappointment.

"They don't make noise, because you never play with them."

He put out his cigarello as a statement.

"Don't you remember how you were when you first came here? Like a kid in a candy store. You tried them all. Loved them all. Here you can't even remember how silent Jessica was, until you were all over her. Now, she's the loudest of them all."

"Yeah, that's why she feels mine. That's why I keep returning", I weaselled, unwisely.

"That is so against swinging culture."

"All right, all right. I take that back. I just like my 90's baby a lot. But you know I also love my 80's baby Stella, and Tiffany…

Bob interrupted me.

"That's exactly my point! You only go for the older ones. The one's that've been here for years!"

I, however, was already too far gone. Lost in recalling Fridays. Thinking about my favourites: 60's baby's, 50's, 40's, 30's… 20's! Listing all their names. Until I, in my excitement, named that one name who should not be named.

By me, that is.

"Huberta! Oh, Huberta. Sure, she's wobbly and creaks a little, but…"

Bob slammed the table.

"You know you're no longer allowed near Huberta!"

"Ah, come on. Why not? Still not?"

"You broke her."

"Nothing a little titanium couldn't fix..."

He threw his hands in the air, anguished at this statement.

"I'm not having this." Then, louder, and to the kitchen: "Donna! I'm not having this! Can't talk to the kid."

"Just tryyy it."

He grunted.

"All right, listen. I see you sneaking around Huberta while you know she's off limits. Off. Limits. And you know what? All those names you just listed. Off limits. All. Off. Limits."

Bob waved his finger at me, the jolly fellow had never scolded anyone like this. Let alone myself. It was only now I understood he was really, really pissed. So, I did the only thing I could do. I apologized. Shut my mouth. And listened.

And, luckily, after I said sorry, Bob calmed a bit.

"Look, it's always the same with you. I appreciate your patronage and dedication to the club, but you use those poor things up. You have at them, and at them, and at them, until you break them. I know it's all out of your limitless swinging enthusiasm, but you are giving the club a bad name. Really, you are, Mark. In fact, we've come known as: not safe."

I sat silently, guiltily, trying to stir the spoon in my coffee.

"Am I banned now?"

"Nah, McFly, I wouldn't ban you. But I'm begging ya, just try the new ones. Play with them. See, Hailey for instance, she's our newest addition; been here for over a week, and I've never seen you even look at her."

Bob stood up and patted my shoulder.

"Do me a favour, will ya? Just try her. I'm sure you'll have lots of fun. You'll be coming back for more just like you did with Jessica."

"Hailey, eh?" I nodded.

And, so, I slumped to Bob's Intercontinental Swing Club's latest model, Hailey 2023. Silently muttering to myself. She was perfect. Far too perfect for me. But I hopped onto her, strapped myself to her — what a bullshit safety feature — and took a couple of steps backward. Shoes tipping over soft rubber tiles, another safety precaution. I rolled my eyes, thinking:

'It's a goddamn swing.'

I craved the element of danger the older models give me, and as I let Hailey 2023 launch me, steadily, and silently; back, and forth, smoothly, I uttered a reluctant:

"Whee."

---

30-8-2023, M.A. Tempels ©

[bloodandrunes]

How would Arassa and other ROs react if some noble kept flirting with their romanced MC and the MC was clearly uncomfortable with it, but the noble wouldn't get the hint?

Anon, I like the way you think. Answers beneath the cut.

Aariz doesn't think when he punches the noble in the face. All he feels is rage, red and flashing hot, at the sight of your clear discomfort. One second, his metal fist is drawing back and the next, he feels bone crunch and give way beneath the force of his blow. The noble screams, clutching at his face, and Aariz snarls, drawing his fist back and bringing it back down again. And again and again until someone, likely you or Dalia, drags him away.

Dalia's anger is not an inferno like Aariz's. No, hers is as cold and biting as a winter storm. She takes in the sight of the woman touching your arm, at the way you are trying to inch away from her, shoulders hunched, and feels her jaw tighten. She steps up to you, feeling the weight of the metal beneath her clothing, and glares at the noble. She presses her fingers to the crook of your arm, letting you know she's here, and pours every ounce of enmity she has in her into the look she sends the woman. It is with great satisfaction that she watches her run with her tail between her legs.

Adys walks up to you cheerfully, two drinks in hand. "I brought you some wine," he says, "who's your friend?" He watches as the noble introduces himself, obviously proud to be speaking to the son of Malic de Resham. He hums quietly to himself and gestures to one of the goblets in his hand. "I don't have a taste for this particular wine," he offers, "would you like it?" The noble accepts proudly, his chest puffing out, and Adys watches with barely contained pleasure as he swallows it. In a few minutes, he'll get sick and embarrass himself horribly. He guides you away, still cheerful, a hand pressed reassuringly against your back, and waits.

Ralys' hand tightens to a fist as the noblewoman before you trails her fingers along your arm, jealousy burning through her. You lean away from her touch, clearly disinterested, and pleasure curls in her chest. Then the woman continues her advances, and as your disinterest becomes discomfort, Ralys' satisfaction turns to fury. She stands from her seat and walks over to the two of you pleasantly. Her arm snaps out to where the woman touches you, her grip on her wrist painfully tight. "Get your hand off of them," she says, her voice sickly sweet, "lest you wish to lose it." The woman's face goes pale.

Idar has never hated the nobles more than he does right here, right now. He walks up to you, jaw clenched as his nails leave crescent moons in his palms. He steps between you and the man who harasses you, mouth curved into a false smile. He places an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. "I believe they said they weren't interested," he says, voice light. Then his smile drops. "Leave before I make you and break every bone in your body in the process." And this time, his tone cannot be mistaken for friendliness. The man runs.

Zara clasps her hands together as she walks over to you, lest she slap the offending noble who has made you so uncomfortable. "There you are," she laughs, her hands brushing your arm and not-so-subtly batting the woman's hand away from you. "I've been looking for you." She turns to press a kiss to each of your cheeks. Then she turns to the noble who still stands there, looking quite irate. "I would've thought you'd get the hint by now," she whispers to her out of the corner of her mouth, flashing her teeth as she smiles, "leave, before you test my patience more."

Arassa watches you cringe away from the noblewoman who makes her advances and sees a younger version of herself in you, with her husband all those years ago, before she thought that she could love him. It strikes a cord in her, makes her blood freeze in her veins even as her skin burns with rage. Something fierce and ugly twists in her stomach as she calls for you in her seat, laughing at some jape one of her ladies has said. "Sit with me," she smiles, "you must tell us of stories outside of the capital." You smile back at her, clearly relieved, but her eyes are not on you. They are on the noblewoman who is quite clearly put out about having you torn from her side. Arassa smiles at her, and she smiles back hesitantly. By dawn of the next day, she is gone, and no one dares to speak her name around the queen ever again.

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

Amethyst shape-shifting into Rose was a strong scene where she did something very harmful, but I'm surprised by how many people I see repeatedly say this basically made Amethyst forever a villain to them.

Of course, this is a valid reaction - to everyone their own sensibilities, a character that went too far for me might be fine to you. With how common it seems to be, though, I want to share my view of why I don't personally relate to that reading.

To me, Amethyst in this scene wasn't a Fellow Adult to Greg. She was a teenager. And teenagers, when they're upset, when they feel neglected, when they are grieving, will hurt you on purpose to elicit a reaction. And it can be ugly.

On top of that, Rose wasn't exclusively "Greg's" or "Steven's". She was also a family member to Amethyst, likely for much longer. Amethyst herself is grieving, she has specific feelings about Rose, and that cannot be divorced from the way she talks about her and her being gone. Rose was to her a family member akin to either a mother, a sister, or both. The fact that she's willing to shape-shift as Rose is, in and of itself, fucked up. It's not just something she's doing to Greg.

In this scene, Amethyst isn't a mature adult who decided to do something fucked up. She's an immature teenager taking something too personally. Think "dad never hangs out with me since mom died. Clearly he would prefer if mom were there instead of me, right?!". If it's not "mom", replace "mom" with "my sister". You can also think "my uncle who used to look after me stopped when his wife became pregnant - then she died, so he wasn't going to come back to me with all that ensued." A broody teenager with messy, conflicting feelings and no ability to deal with them. Amethyst exhibits these behaviours for a long time. She's stubborn in the way a teenager is, she's impatient, she's tired of having to deal with the adults' problems. This is why when she shows how much she has matured by the end of the story, it's such a big deal. She even empathises with Steven's feelings being stuck amidst centuries-old drama by drawing from her experience, her similar feelings at the same "age".

I personally cannot divorce this terrible scene from the visual of a teenager who says something hurtful to a parent she cares about, because she's hurt and she doesn't know how else to vocalise it, how else to get them to pay attention to her. It's undoubtedly terrible - and when she sees Steven, it's instant regret, because it makes her face her own actions - but I cannot put definite blame on her for this in the way I would on an adult. Sometimes, teenagers saying horrible, horrible things is a call for help. In real life, a teenager dressing-up as a deceased family member to elicit a reaction from a carer would be seen as an obvious call for help.

Amethyst being the equivalent of a teenager is made very clear through the entirety of her writing. It is a true fact that Greg wasn't actually her carer (Rose was - and one could even argue she was taking it out on Rose through Greg, since Rose is the one who abandoned her) and as such didn't have to look after her, so it was the right thing for him to focus on his son. But it's also undeniable that Amethyst felt neglected, abandoned. And being immature, during a messy, nasty argument, she used this juvenile technique to hurt Greg, whom she felt like was hurting her. A very poor defence mechanism.

It's obviously Bad and Harmful. But not something I could imagine holding against someone who's now become an adult, because there's no situation in which a healthy teenager in a healthy environment would become so defensive. Grief is ugly, so is trying to defend yourself as a traumatised teenager. Rose's death was most likely not Amethyst's first trauma either.

[introloves]

🦷: Okayy but daddy Iwa leaving his baby with mattsun while he’s gone like bo does and mattsun taking such good care of iwa’s little girl,,and if mattsun can’t Iwa will reluctantly leave her w makki who’s so much meaner 🥺🥺

— dom! matsukawa + sub space + teasing + mentions of pain + predator/prey dynamics + slight hair pulling + mentions of fear + masochist reader + size kink + dacryphilia + big dick + heavy breath play + choking + praise + creampie + petname (bunny) + f! reader

— word count: 2.6k

he looked her over, unable to stop the smirk from forming. shy eyes made his chest swell in a primal swirl of lust. already so sweet for him, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“y/n.”

“hm?” your voice answered back in a small hum, cute and shy. he couldn’t help but let a shiver crawl up his back at the thought of how you’d sound broken and whining just like that for him.

but he was being too forward, no wonder why iwaizumi had asked to leave you in his care- you were dangerously alluring.

you were here to be taken care of, and what he wanted might not match up to what you wanted, he’d test the waters first.

grabbing your hand gently, making sure to not startle you all too bad- letting you know it was okay, there was nothing to be embarrassed or shy about; the plan was set out, in detail- by hajime.

the thought of leaving you alone while he joined his team out of the country wasn't something he liked to entertain- you were supposed to be taken care of at all times, even when he couldn't. that's why this arrangement was drawn up. it was something mattsun could do.

he led you to his room, motioning to where the bathroom, kitchen- where all the necessities were. his house was small; enough for him and now for you, it was where you would be staying at… and you were grateful.

“its not much… but its comfortable.” the tone and smoothness of his voice eased you further- the slowly oscillating timbre of notes made you melt.

you nodded, smiling a little, bending your head in appreciation.

it squeezed at his heart, the way you were so polite and kind, a sweet little thing he couldn’t believe belonged to iwaizumi.

it made sense, you’d made the comment on how you liked men that could protect, men who would put you on your knees by just a look… and he so deeply hoped he fit that criteria.

in private, you knew he was- he was tall and big, taller than your hajime, maybe not as thick, not as built, but his presence still made your knees shake.

you let yourself watch him from the corner of your eyes, watching him walk forward, settling down the bag he’d taken from you on his bed… in all honesty, you’d seen his couch- and someone as big as him would not have a pleasant time sleeping on it… but you didn't know where he was going to draw the line.

you’d hope he’d stay, hope he’d cuddle you and make you feel good… sleeping alone was not familiar to you.

being alone was an ugly thought, it was exhausting and horrible. being spoiled made you greedy and needy- all in one. a pretty thing iwa was proud of, always showing you off.

you needed someone, and you wholly agreed to be pretty and good for issei.

“okay bunny.” he sighed, sitting down at the edge of the bed, looking at you.

the petname sent little prickles of heat down your back, making you dizzy and complaint, it triggered a nice and comfy haze clouding your mind.

“time for bed?” he asked, watching the slow blink of your eyes, chest rising and falling slowly- slipping into that sweet headspace.

oh…

iwaizumi really had you trained well.

he was going to have so much fun with you.

“what do you want, pretty girl.” issei questioned, leaning forwards elbows on his thighs; looking at you like a good meal, something he was very eagerly waiting to take a bite out of- lower lip glistening with saliva as he passed his thick tongue over it.

it made you take a step forward, a pretty bunny falling right into the claws of something big and mean- being devoured came easiest for you.

“take care of me.” you whispered, placing two shaky hands on his shoulders. broad frame, nice and sturdy, warm and strong. everything a little bunny like you needed for security.

his lips curled into a pleasant smile, canines glistening under the light of his room, smirking at your sweet words.

“ah- you want me to take care of you?” mattsun’s voice was laced with inquisition, wanting to hear another note of confirmation.

“yes please. haji said you would.” you responded, pouting at the slight teasing, but quickly warming up when those hands of his wrapped around your sides. it felt real easy, tugging you onto his lap.

“oh, bunny i will.” he assured, thinking over his next words.

“i just… you know the difference between me and iwaizumi… right?” there was small apprehension, felt like he was trying to piece together words that wouldn’t scare you off. shaking your head slightly, they did everything but that- luring you in with the promise of something dangerous, something exciting.

it was really cute- he could hear your heart pound from where he was, watching your face scrunch up, leaning into him.

“if you want me to take care of you, i need to let you know- i’m a lot bigger than him.” matsukawa huffed, sliding the hold on your sides down to your hips, groaning at the warmth and softness molding under his palms.

“and i dont fuck like he does.”

the smooth timbre of his voice turned gravely, growling out those last few words, bringing your body to his- entrapping you in all of him. he let himself grace your neck, lips just barely touching- letting you back away at the challenge.

but you were a greedy thing, the small hint of danger electrifying every nerve in your body. thighs jumping around his lap, squirming.

he says it like a warning, but all it does is excite you. the promise of him fucking you doenst let you focus on anything else.

mattsun feels your squirming, sees the way you bite at your lips, pupils dilating as you watch him, wide eyes roaming his face.

he's the one who starts the grind, tightening the hold, shifting to sit back slightly; pushing you against the length already hard and heavy in his pants.

this is his favorite part, seeing the surprise- eagerly watching for the look of pure shock. maybe you're finally feeling the heavy severity of the situation, maybe it's a jolt of arousal that makes your eyes shake, lips parting in amazement at being sat on his big cock.

whichever one it is, it makes your head tip back, huffing out a tiny noise of surprise and want.

it feels so big, even now, just sat on his cock through his. pants and your bottoms and it's all just so-

“oh!”

throbbing cunt passing over a ridge, catching over your puffy clit, knowing it's the swell of his cockhead. it makes you weak, tipping forward, tugging at his shirt.

issei chuckles in response, warm hand traveling up your back, curling against your head. there's a tiny moment of reprieve- sits there, watching your shoulders tense up before he tugs.

it's gentle at first, admiring how you shape yourself perfectly for him, going limp as soon as he does, but just like you- he's a greedy man and pulls- back bowing against him. with clenched teeth at how you squirm, he hisses;

“what is it bunny?” what's got you makin’ those pretty sounds?”

there's already tears forming against your lashes, the feeling of your cunt freely gliding against the pool of arousal lying wetly right on your panties makes everything that more… exciting. if he's able to bring you to this state by just tugging at your hair… the thought makes you desperate or what else he could do to you.

“you! it's you ‘sei! don't want you to tease- take. care. of. me.” you mewl, exasperated at his actions.

he's so close- you can feel his cock pulse under him, and you want nothing more than to be split open.

but your sweet little tantrum simply makes him laugh, bringing your throat to his mouth, teeth grazing sweetly against the thrum of your pulse.

“little bunny… you’ve got some fight, hm?” he whispers, letting you go with a quick little bite- a reminder, something to let you know to calm yourself.

usually he’d take his time- reduce you into a mess of cum and tears and spit until you’re crying out for him, and even then he wouldn’t give you what you wanted. however, issei would play nice for now, knowing your little outburst was all due to the want for him. it made his heart thump loudly against his ribs.

“it’s okay- i’ll fuck it out of you.” mattsun groans.

you tense up at his words- the throbbing against the spot where he nipped keeping a heavy reminder, impatience didn't look pretty on you.

he lets a hand leave the warmth of your hips, thumb digging into the side of your cheek impatiently, keeping your head tilted to look at him- the tension in your scalp lessens and you're aware of the direction his other hand is traveling.

the sound of his belt clinking, button popping open, and zipper falling makes you squeak. whole body lighting up, pressing your cunt right against the hand working to release him from his pants.

“please!”

the word slips from your lips involuntarily, and once again, he lets the slip up go. there would be time to teach you to wait, to earn what he gives you.

using the grip he already has on your face, he picks you up, a show of strength tugging you up by your face to give his cock room to be released. your knees shakily hit either side of the bed around his body, hips tipping forward- giving him space, but even then, you feel the tip of his cock brush against your pussy.

a high, shaky sound of air leaving your lungs in a shocked whimper makes his cock jump heavily- your hands landing by your face as you stare, chest heaving- weight of his hand falls from your face, down to your neck, pressing you deep into the bed.

the thrum of fear peaks once more, exaggerating another gush of arousal, this time running down your ass- no longer caught by your panties.

“pretty.” is all he says, squeezing once, watching your legs jump. his thumb swipes up against your cheek to catch a stray tear. he wants to make a remark about your skittish muscles, working against you to tense up with every movement he makes, but the heavy lust burning in his stomach doesn't let him.

“breathe in for me- it’ll hurt less if you do.”

there’s sick pleasure watching you nod, so eager to do what he says just to be hurt in order to take him all. he wastes no time in order to tug your bottoms off, impatiently working with only one hand, all while he keeps his eyes on your face. its all a frenzy of want.

he wanted to take you like an animal, wanted to make it hurt- wanted to break your soft mind, but he resists. it’ll be fine for now, the time to play how he wants could happen at a later time.

the head of his cock meets heavy resistance, slickened by the never ending stream of arousal leaking out of your wanting hole- it makes it a little more bearable. you such in a breath, just like he says, tongue heavy with the weight of it playing against your cunt.

he was right, he was right and now your heart beat loudly in your chest at the feeling of him pressing in more and more- he was bigger than your hajime, and it hurt.

it hurt so good.

“m-more!” you gasp, impatiently waiting with the slow pace he's taking you. hands clawing at the hand still wrapped firmly around your throat, legs thumping over and over on either side of him.

it takes him back, gasping at the slight tilt of your hips seeking more of him, his eyebrows pinch together in amusement and surprise.

you were proving to be more of a challenge than he thought- but he did as he was told for now, shifting down to really pin you.

“pretty girl, so dirty- you keep surprisin’ me.” he grunts, watching your body lie pliant, mouth hanging open in a desperate and now silent plea.

he counts to three before lessening up, blinking at the way you shoot up to take a heavy gulp of air.

“good bunny.” he seethes, trying to keep up with your greedy cunt, fluttering around him as he pushes in and in and in.

its so good, nails digging into the arm still trapping your upper body down onto the bed, drooling as your tongue lulls out.

you’re hot and wound up, pooling sweat dripping down against your clothes, smushed against his mattress.

the first slam of his hips inside makes you sob, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of all the tension leaving your body, a reaction to being fucked so hard. you can feel him make a noise of appreciation at that, pushing his weight- using it to fuck you down onto the bed.

“so good- such a greedy pussy, only satisfied when it's being pounded like this- hm?”

issei emphasizes his words with an increasing tempo, barely giving himself time to breathe, drunk on your cunt- the pretty sounds you're making, the way your eyes have rolled to the back of your head, small hands no longer grabbing at his wrist.

you're creaming around him, already cuming at just mintues of being given what you so desperately begged for.

“issei! ‘sei!”

it sounds so pretty leaving your mouth in this breathy pitch and it's getting to him, the building orgasm crawling towards him at a rapid pace.

he releases the hold on your neck to grab desperately at your hips, arching your back against him while you jolt, body receiving the shock of his pistoning hips- slapping heavily onto your thighs, mixing with the loud squelch and squeal singing from your body.

you can’t will your muscles to contract any longer, already cuming once more at the change in position, weakly crying out his name- sweet and fucked out, babbling the consonants of his name over and over again.

“good girl- c-cuming so pretty for me.” he pants, teeth clashing together as he pushes past the resistance of your walls once more, sheathing his cock inside in a final attempt to make it hurt. he knows he’s successful when you lift up off the bed, choking out a warbling scream.

his body seizes, matching the feverish way you’re spasming around his body.

the heated, spurt of cum inside your cunt comes in thick ropes and you exhale in response, turning your head left to right as you receive it all- take it all in your battered, swollen walls.

he stays right where he stops, head hooked down, eyes looking at the cream of cum splattered on the stretched out lips of your cunt.

“fuck.” he gasps, slowly coming back from the overwhelming burst of pleasure.

“are you okay?” matsukawa asks, eyes softening at the way you slowly open your eyes, blinking hot tears from your lashes.

you cant respond verbally just yet, giving him a nod, a small tilt of your head before dropping your legs- finally relaxing.

he sees why you need this every night, you're glowing- covered in sweat and a sweet smile playing at your lips.

“so good- thank you issei.” you sing, already ready to sleep- and with the almost devious curl of your lips, he swears you- the sweet bunny he brought into his home was more predator than prey.

“play with me some more... later- please.” you hum, shivering at the globs of cum cooling against your stretched cunt, all before you sigh and close your eyes, looking for that sweet sleep.

matsukawa stays up a bit later, giving iwaizumi a quick text- asking if you would ever truly be satisfied, and the response he gets sends a prickle of heat curling against his neck-

fuck her unconscious or else she’ll keep wanting more.

like my work? support me on ko-fi!

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Makeup [S.B]

Sirius Black x plus size!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a toxic relationship history and a bit of insecurity because of it.

A/N: I did a questionnaire a few days ago to see what kind of reader you would like me to do. This is the first one I do base on that questionnaire and I want to say the following:

The only reason the reader is specified as "plus size!reader" is that if there is someone who fits this description, feel comfortable.

You will never see something like "her FAT body" NO, NEVER

Much less that the One shot revolves around their weight (neither nationality, nor gender identity, nor sexuality nor all the things that they put in that questionnaire). I only write about NORMAL people in normal situations. All bodies are beautiful, we are all beautiful.

So, if you are a plus size person, welcome. If you are not, you can also read it without feeling left out in any way.

I really hope that you feel comfortable with everything I write and that you know that I seek to be as inclusive as possible. Without more to say, thanks for taking the time to read my stuff. Tell me your opinion, if you want!💕

You looked in the mirror one last time.

Sirius, the boy of your dreams, had asked you out on a date and you wanted everything to be absolutely perfect.

You had met him because you both lived on the same floor of the condo block and it was inevitable to bump into him from time to time. It wasn't the best place to live, it was small and a little dirty, but it was the only thing you could afford and the fastest you could find after that happened.

You liked the way Sirius smelled because when he crossed the corridors, you could perceive a mixture of leather (you supposed it was due to all the clothes he used of this material) and an elegant cologne that drove you crazy.

At first, it scared you a little to see him with that piercing in his eyebrow and his multiple tattoos, but later you realized that he was really nobody to be afraid of, on the contrary, he turned out to be a very tender and sweet boy.

The first time you spoke to him it was because you were struggling to open your door while carrying boxes and bags that you had brought from the supermarket. The boy noticed you were having trouble and walked up to you to offer his help, so (still a bit wary) you said yes.

Once he held your purchases, you could open the lock, but when you turned around, you noticed that Sirius was secretly looking at the contents of your bags and when he realized that you had caught him, he blushed.

"Sorry I'm a little gossipy," he said shyly "I'm Sirius"

"I thought you were a gossip"

"No, my name is Sirius" he laughed and it was your turn to blush.

"Oh, sorry"

"Okay, anyone can get confused" he murmured with his charming smile, handing you what he was holding in his hands "I live in the 512" he informed you. Of course, you knew he lived in that apartment; you had seen him come into its thousands of times "In case you need anything. You know, some plumbing or things that have to do with tools and that shit of men" he murmured kindly. You frowned a little and then he quickly added "I mean, it's not that girls can't do that and it's okay if you know how to do those things, you seem like a smart and capable person. It's just that sometimes it's tedious and requires strength... and it's not that you don't have strength, I mean...” Sirius couldn't continue because he heard you giggle and then realized he was looking like an idiot “Just call me if you need anything and if you want to do it, yes?” he explained to you and you nodded with a smile.

"Thanks for offering your help Sirius" you replied, looking at him over your bags.

"You’re welcome, miss..."

"Y/N" you completed. He smiled and wrapped a dark curl around his finger that fell unruly from his ponytail.

"I'll see you later then, Y/N. It was nice to greet you" he said by way of farewell and you nodded to respond.

You haven't felt like this with any guy since you met your dear (sarcasm) ex-boyfriend. The insecurities that he had created in you kept you from thinking about having something else later and you honestly didn't feel ready to have your heart broken again.

But Sirius continued to be kind to you. Whenever he looked at you, he made an effort to have a topic of conversation, even if you were not so eloquent, and little by little, he was gaining your trust and your affection. As the weeks went by, you became good friends who chatted in the elevator or occasionally (when you weren't late for work) went downstairs just to share a little more time.

Until one day Sirius showed up at your door with his clothes stained with something that looked like paint, his hair tied up in a messy way and smelling of burned food. He was so beautiful in his own way and you were so afraid of falling in love with him because you knew beforehand that having something else would be impossible.

After all, no boy would ever love you. It was something that your ex-boyfriend had commissioned to get very well into your head.

"Go out?" you asked a little confused after he asked you. You didn't want to misunderstand things.

"Yes! We could go wherever you want. For ice cream, to dinner, to a park, to the cinema... I don't know, wherever you can think of”

"Why?" was the first thing that occurred to you to ask. Now it was Sirius' turn to look confused.

"Well, I thought it would be an opportunity to meet and... spend more time together" he explained and although you had understood the idea it seemed impossible to think that the boy had any kind of interest in you "But it's fine if you don't want to, I don't pretend be upset"

"I'd love to," you rushed to say, fearful that the opportunity would slip through your grasp. You saw him smile and after exchanging a few more words he left with a smile that you couldn't see, but that was pure joy.

Finally, the day of "go out" arrived and you were about to tell him that you could not go. You were nervous, more than nervous you were anxious about what could happen or what he could say about you.

You had searched your entire wardrobe for something decent to wear and after pulling and removing and taking out the clothes and trying them on, none of them convinced you. You looked in the mirror and didn't feel like it was enough of an outfit to date a man as handsome as him. In the first place, you did not even know why he had chosen to go out with you, because, although you considered yourself a nice person, you could not boast of being the most interesting.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, you kept repeating yourself as you continued to get ready and looked at the wall clock waiting for the time for Sirius to knock on your apartment.

Once you were with your outfit ready, you looked yourself up and down and although he did not completely convince you, you decided to tell yourself that you looked beautiful. Still a little nervous you looked at the makeup bag that was under some things on your dressing table. You hadn't put on makeup for years, because you were still scared to hear the comments in your head with that horrible voice.

You look like a whore.

You shook your head to ward off all the negativity and taking a breath you plucked up the courage to open the zippers and remove the beautiful makeup that you had abandoned. When you were finishing and without giving a chance to regret there was a knock on the door that took you by surprise. You went out and found Sirius wearing a striped t-shirt and ripped jeans that reminded you of that blond singer... Kurt was his name?

"Wow" you heard him say and he caught you staring at him adoringly. But you noticed that he looked at you the same "You are beautiful" he said with a smile. You frowned, again a little afraid that he was lying, but you tried again to push away those ideas of self-sabotage and smiled widely.

"I'm glad you like it. You look very handsome, you look like...”

"A rock star? I know” he said winking at you and managing to make you laugh “It's a joke, thanks for the compliment, sweetie” he replied, with his pretty smile of sealed lips. Just when you were smiling at him you watched him pay special attention to your makeup and put on a face that completely terrified you, taking all your confidence.

"Something wrong?"

"Your makeup" he pronounced. You felt your heart squeeze a little.

"You do not like? I can go take it off if you find it ugly or something like that…”

"Ugly?" he asked offended "No! It’s beautiful, but I feel like it lacks a touch. You know, the cherry on the cake that stands out in your eyes” he explained. You looked at him confused for the third time and he snapped his fingers as if the answer had suddenly come to his head "Eyeliner"

"Eyeliner?"

"Of course! Don't you like to use it? " he said kindly, turning his head to the side. You denied.

"I never learned how to do it" you lied. There was a bit of truth to it, but it also had a lot to do with the fact that he kept repeating that you looked vulgar with the eyeliner.

“I'm good at it! Come with me,” he murmured. He took your hand carefully and dragged you gently through the hall until they reached his apartment. You were a nervous wreck when he invited you to join him. "Sorry about the mess, I'm really the most distracted person on the planet and I forget to arrange things," he said with an embarrassed smile. You looked at some vinyl lying around, clothes, food packages, paintings, a guitar. There was a certain peace and beauty within all that mess, completely reflecting the boy who was desperately searching for his favorite eyeliner.

"Come," he asked once he left his room. You sat in a red leather chair he had and he leaned in your direction, very close to your face "Raise your head and look slightly down" he asked you and you listened. He took you by the chin with one hand and you saw him stick his tongue out just a little bit (as a sign of his concentration) while drawing on your eyelids. When he indicated that he had finished you saw him smile from ear to ear, which you imitated when he saw yourself in a mirror.

"Wow..." you whispered. Years ago, you loved putting on makeup and especially eyeliner, so seeing you again like that you were surprised. Besides, he was right, his hand was excellent at it.

"Now it's perfect, right?" he said excitedly. Perfect, that's how Sirius described what was in front of his eyes.

"Yeah... it looks much better" you admitted shyly. You couldn't believe that Sirius could make you feel so comfortable and calm, as well as help you maintain your confidence in yourself.

"I just hope I don't meet jealous guys for not having someone so pretty accompanying them," he said flirtatiously, making you laugh because of your nerves and making you blush "Shall we go?" he asked smiling and extending a hand to help you up.

You looked at him, still amazed to have found someone like that in your life, and took his hand with a smile.

Who would say that sometimes love stories begin like this?

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[dootdootwriting]

hi howdy! here's my part for the holiday writing collab hosted by @xiaosmoon !! i hope you all enjoy :D

ugly sweater party with kaeya; gn reader; no warnings apply

Today would be your third time attending the Knights of Favonius Official Ugly Sweater Party. Or it would be, if your boyfriend hadn't been in charge of laundry over the weekend, and if he hadn't accidentally shrunk your sweater to about four sizes too small. But hey, at least now if he gave in and got a pet, you could put it on them.

"So, what's the plan now?" You asked, shuffling through your wardrobe. This would be the fifth time today you'd frantically pushed through everything in it, searching for something that could pass as an ugly sweater. All four previous times had been to no avail, and, looking at the pile of discarded clothes all over your bedroom floor, you assumed that the fifth time would be as well.

"Tape a drawing of Diluc's face to an otherwise perfectly normal sweater?" Kaeya suggested from his perch on your bed. He was wearing possibly the most eyeburning sweater known to man: the words "HO HO HO" embroidered in bright red against dark green, with candy canes scattered all over. The craftsmanship on the sweater itself was incredible, but it certainly qualified as ugly.

"You would do that. Unfortunately he's not going to be there to witness your mockery this time."

"A shame, really. We should invite him!"

You threw a sock at him and he laughed, flinging it off his face and back onto the floor.

"You know I'm looking for an actual answer, right? Amber would never let me hear the end of it if I showed up without an ugly sweater."

"True, and while I would love to see that, I can sympathize with you, and I love you, and so I will offer assistance."

"Oh, joy."

Kaeya leapt off the bed and dragged you off the floor onto your feet. "Today, my dear, we are going on an adventure to find the ugliest sweater possible."

"Will it take longer than three hours? Because we have to get to Favonius HQ in three hours."

"Well, hopefully not. We'll see."

It did not, in fact, take longer than three hours - at least, not to find the sweater. Displayed brightly in one of the abundant shops of mondstadt, the perfect sweater sat on a mannequin. It was black, knitted, with little embroidered animals and the words "HAPPY PAWLIDAYS" in alternating red and white letters on the front.

"Now this," said Kaeya, taking his time to admire the sweater, "is beautiful. Almost prettier than you, though I think you just barely take the cake here."

"You are insufferable," you said, teasing, "and in any case, the store is closed. We must have come too late."

"Well then why on earth would they keep the lights on?"

"To get people to buy it tomorrow? It seems like a horrible plan though."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find some way around it then."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

It wasn't long after you asked that Kaeya grinned, winked, and promptly kicked the door in.

"WE'RE GOING TO STEAL IT?"

"We're going to borrow it. I'll give it back tomorrow and apologize for the lock breaking. Let's just hope nobody takes advantage of it."

And with that, Kaeya grabbed your hand, dragged you inside, and grabbed the sweater off its display.

"Here. Look, it's a perfect fit - go on, now, we don't have much time."

"Kaeya, this is insane."

"Yes, exactly, an insanely good plan. Come on, the party's in an hour. If we want to be early, now's the time to go."

If you said this whole ordeal hadn't made you fall just the tiniest bit more in love with him, you'd be lying. You ran through the streets with him, failing to suppress your laughter, still holding hands from when he dragged you into the shop. The Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius was right up ahead, and once you got there, Amber ran out to greet you, clad in her homemade baron bunny sweater.

"Hey, you wore a new one this year!"

"Yeah, Kaeya shrunk my old one," you said, pausing to catch your breath. "I'm definitely not letting him near the laundry again."

"Well, I like this one better if I'm being honest. Now come on! We have an ugly sweater party to get to!"

Kaeya pulled you in for a quick side hug and laughed, still breathing heavily from running. "She's right, you know. Now that your problem is fixed, let's go have fun."

[theworldsoul]

Uhh warning VENT!!! Talks about self harm and shit... also religious bullshit and gender bullshit??? Like I'm really trans and also Catholicism really fucked me up so if ur uncomfy with that just... skip this post. Also if ur Christian and can't handle seeing ur shit defaced then skip this post. Also if ur gonna clown on this post as "cringe atheism" then fuck you because I'm literally coping with pain lol

:readmore:

Anways now that the disclaimer is over... here comes the real shit.

I... have been going through a LOT lately, jesus christ. I was HAPPY today, yknow? I thought I was gonna be happy the whole day.

I was dancing today. That's how happy I was. For the first time in like... a whole year... I was really so happy. I thought I was gonna cry. But then I got home. And well,,,, I did cry. But not from happiness. I just got my math grade back. A fucking 49 percent. MY AVERAGE RIGHT NOW IS A 57 PERCENT. I MIGHT FAIL MATH 20. I MIGHT HAVE TO RETAKE IT. oh my god I'm such a failure I cant do anything ever i try SO fucking hard but honestly??? I cant fucking do this. I can't, I'm not mentally capable. "Just work harder"... BITCH I AM WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN. I AM SPENDING HOURS AND HOURS OF MY LIFE STUDYING AND PRACTICING. I'm starting to think that how hard i try doesn't even fucking matter because I'm STUPID and all i know how to do is PAINT SHIT!!!! NOBODY CARES ABOUT ART!!!! IF I FAIL THIS CLASS I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO HAVE A HOUSE IN THE FUTURE!!!! A HOUSE!!!!!

I dont even want to be a fucking orthodontist. Okay??? I wanna do what I love: painting. But NOOOO. I have to get a "respectable" job that will "pay me enough money to live". WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO MAKE MONEY TO LIVE??? WTF??? THATS LITERALLY SO FUCKED UP. everyone deserves to live (unless they like murdered someone? I guess? Idk) BUT LIKE I DIDNT KILL NO ONE SO WHATS ALL THIS BS ABOUT WORKING TO LIVE???? WTF??? I rly gotta do all this shit I hate, all this shit I'm mentally incapable of doing... so i can have a house. Fuck this. Yknow with my average at a 57... I might fail this class even if I get a really good grade on my next quiz. Can you fucking believe it??? I'm literally so fucking stupid I cant even pass a dumb fucking math class god i hate myself. I cant fail this class. I've NEVER failed a class. Almost failed... but never HAD TO RETAKE A CLASS. that's the ultimate failure. I think my parents would hate me if I failed this.

And on top of that... I'm really struggling with uhhh, dysphoria and body image... and it's so fucking horrible man I want to rip all my skin off I want to suffocate god I want to KILL him I want to MAKE HIM SUFFER. I want to gouge his eyes out and force him to eat them. WHY WOULD HE MAKE ME LIKE THIS????? WHY????? WHATS THE POINT IN MAKING A CHILD SUFFER SO MUCH???

What did I ever do that was so wrong I deserved all this punishment???

Well FUCK YOU and fuck your stupid book and FUCK THESE STUPID FUCKING SAINTS. WASNT THERE SUPPOSED TO BE A WHOLEASS ANGEL WATCHING OVER ME?? PROTECTING ME??? WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BITCH NOW?? WHERE WAS THAT BITCH WHEN... when I was being bullied? When I literally wanted to kill myself?

Where was that guardian angel when I kept making THE SAME MISTAKE over and over again and I KNEW it was wrong but I kept doing it anyways because it was the only way I could feel like soemone cared about me????

I bet that angel motherufcker KNEW they didnt care. DID THE ANGEL EVER ONCE HELP ME??? NOOOO. all those times I was bruised and broken... all those times...

Man, I was just a kid. I was SO fucking young. And I would come like a lamb to the slaughter and kneel. I would pray... ask for guidance. I would pray the rosary too, I would read the bible and try my very best to understand it, I would go to church and volunteer at church and do my best to be a Good Boy and never sin. I did EVERYTHING right. I literally fasted at some point, like a religious fast. I was devoted...

Honestly though? I think it was the same mistake I make over and over again, except not with a real person.

And you have me NOTHING. GO GIRL, GIVE US NOTHING!!!!!!! I literally used to self-punish for the sins I couldnt bring myself to confess. At my communion, there was one sin I didn't tell because I knew it was unforgivable. I still hate myself for that. But man, I used to try and do all sorts of things to somehow cleanse myself of it. I figured THAT whole ordeal was why I was constantly being tortured.

But I was stupid and I am stupid and that makes NO SENSE because if the thing I'm being punished for happened when I was a child, WHY DID THE PUNISHMENT BEGIN AT MY BIRTH????

They used to tell me that god handcrafted every part of me specifically for some sort of grand reason.

Why.

Really? This bitch really "handcrafted" me just so I could cry and cut myself nearly every night??? Fuck that. Like why would you make me this way. It hurts more than you can IMAGINE. The only reason I'm not dead yet is because of ME, MY strength, not any of the bullshit YOU gave me. I hate when people say "oh, god made u so hardworking" or "oh, god made you so passionate/hopeful/full of love/fiery/whatever" LIKE STFU BITCH THAT WAS NOT SKYDADDY THAT WAS ME!!!

you wanna know what he made me?

dysphoric, ugly af, yeah.... but the worst part?

He made me feel.

That doesn't sound bad, right? Well it's the worst thing on the list. It is my downfall, my Achilles heel or whatever. This emotions shit??? It RUINED my life. My whole life I was cursed with a fucking monster inside me. I kept trying to tell everyone that it wasnt me!!! I kept telling them that it felt like I was being possessed. But adults are SHIT. I hate adults. I want to kill them all. They failed me and their god failed me. None of them every listened to me. All they knew how to do was punish, punish, punish.

It's like giving an allergic kid some peanuts and then getting angry at them for going into anaphylactic shock or whatever. Nobody ever thought "hey, why don't we stop giving the kid peanuts?"

ALL THE ADULTS AROUND ME ACT LIKE CHILDREN AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE ACTED LIKE CHILDREN FUCK ADULTS

Anwyays that's how I ended up with all these unresolved issues,.... emotion is a tough one, like I literally dont have the ability to control my emotions at all, I can try and like, repress them but I cant make myself actually feel less.

My emotion hurts more than anyone else's and nobody ever understood that. I would tell them that it hurts, it PHYSICALLY HURTS, and they would say I just wanted attention. I would tell them I literally couldnt control what my body said and did, I would tell them I felt like A PUPPET ON STRINGS and no one believed me. Fuck them.

Healthy coping mechanisms? I literally self ship with Snape to cope. I literally self ship with characters my brain made up and put in my dreams to cope. I used to hurt myself so much trying to feel loved and cared about irl. Fiction is so much better. I sound like a loser but its TRUE. The sort of thing I need, the sort of love I need is like... a parent. You can't go looking for a parent in a romantic partner, it fucks everything up and you end up... well, let's just say it proabbly wasnt the most legal thing, but I wasnt thinking strisght at all I mean dude I was So fucked in my head when I did all that...whatever...anyways so thank u for fiction!!! I love fiction. Want to kill someone? Draw it. Then you'll feel much better!!! And you dont go to jail!!!

Well the pics here... idk, it was really calming to do this. It's new, painting over religious shit. I was gonna do the whole bible but I already burnt that shit so.... and I was going to cut but I'm trying really hard to stay clean... like really hard. It's so weird and like, addicting, once I hit styro I don't want to stop, but also it kinda transfers the emotional pain to physical pain, making it way easier to deal with. I just can't keep doing that because I KNOW it's bad and look I thoguht I was clean for a whole year but then I fucked up and WOW, GUESS WHAT MADE ME RELAPSE??? MATH CLASS!!!!

Whatever anyways here are my wonderful works of art I made while crying and cursing god (like I'm so pissed at all this catholic bs I believed in him again just to swear at him lol)

.... but imagine for a moment, a better world. One in whcih these saints whose images I've defaced are actually good people... a world in which they SEE ME AND THEY HEAR ME... and I go unpunished.... and I am embraced by someone who UNDERSTANDS.

I think I would cry.

Too bad that world doesnt exist and I just made it up to try and feel a bit better. Whatever, whatever. I painted the things, they're gonna dry. I work hard, I'm gonna do good on my quiz, I hope. I just have to be making it through, that's all it is, work work work without a break but I can proabbly do it. I'm really slipping I admit like the mental health is slipping it's getting worse like I havent had a "fuck I am afab" moment in such a long time so yeah...

Anwyays I feel so much better now that I did my little art project yknow???

[peepingnee]

I redid this and I like this take more.

Snow and Dirty Rain

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close

to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me

with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending

to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine

my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots

in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair,

the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where

we live. When we were little we made houses out of

cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because

our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we

struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring

your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making

those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly,

my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing

for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is

a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me

tight, it's getting cold. We have not touched the stars,

nor are we forgiven, which brings us back

to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,

the gold light falling backward through the glass

of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place

for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.

Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars

for you? That I would take you there? The splash

of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read

the back of the book, we know what's going to happen.

The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left

broken in the brown dirt. And then's it's gone.

Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye

Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all

in Heaven. But there's a litany of dreams that happens

somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling

on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we

transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands

and record stores. Moonlight making crosses

on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

We have been very brave, we have wanted to know

the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.

This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in

the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstrechted arms.

Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried

in the yard. Someone is digging your grave right now.

Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said,

so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale,

the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished

halls, lightning here and gone. We make these

ridiculous idols so we can to what's behind them,

but what happens after we get up the ladder?

Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are

the monsters we put in the box to test our strength

against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's

the desire to put it inside us, and then the question

behind every question: What happens next?

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me

I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,

and they're only a few steps behind you, finding

the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren't

stitched up quite right, the place they could almost

slip right into through if the skin wasn't trying to

keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side

of the theater where the curtain keeps rising.

I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.

I had to make up all the words myself. The way

they taste, the wy they sound in the air. I passed

through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled

around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made

this place for you. A place for to love me.

If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is.

So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields?

Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?

I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters

kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart,

the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the

space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words

frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce

leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere.

I was away, I don't know where, lying on the floor,

pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you

but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have

swallowed him up, they said. It's beautiful. It really is.

I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room

where everyone finally gets what they want.

You said Tell me about your books, your visions made

of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is

the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you

there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar

cube... We were in the gold room where everyone

finally gets what they want, so I said What do you

want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am

leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome

burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,

my silent night, just mash your lips against me.

We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

Richard Siken

Requested by @mia-ugly

[theyearthirtytwo]

Day 4.

I spent this Sunday morning eating pie, drinking coffee, and scrolling Pinterest - browsing illustrations I admire and analyzing what about them moves me. Sometimes it's the use of white space. Sometimes it's the lines and the movement. Sometimes it's the characters themselves. Often it's the way the artist plays with light.

For the better part of the summer, I've been in the concept creation process on a dozen or so different children's books, of which I have written first or second drafts. This is my favorite phase of writing a book, because while it is a vital first step, you aren't actually doing any of the hard work it takes to bring a book into this world. You get to feel as if you are creating something without the pressure or discomfort that comes with actually creating something. Ideal.

A woman who lives in Bend and who self-published one of my favorite books of Jack's Hello, Bend! has made a few helpful blog posts about self-publishing children's books and was adamant that before anything else takes place, you must write and illustrate your book in its' entirety. With that in mind, I have been attempting to use the 2 or 3 hours a day that Jack is sleeping to illustrate the many pages of my many books.

I have learned through this practice is that illustration is hard.

Doodling? Easy, fun, an amazing way to spend my time. Illustrating something meant to be permanent? Something that may very well outlive me? Horrible, torturous, a complete fucking nightmare. Ah yes, perfection rearing its' ugly head again.

The problem I am running into again and again is overcoming the finality of it all. What if this book has a character that I find cute and fun to draw and work with today, but tire of within a year? If this book is a success, do I have to draw this character I don't particularly care for for the rest of my life?

I understand the drama behind that, I really do. And the probability that my first book and first character and first story are so wildly successful that I must continue to work with this character for all of time is zero to none. I know that. And yet? The fear of not writing the perfect character into the perfect story and illustrating that character perfectly for all to love is overwhelming.

I have the same feelings about my general illustration style. What if I get sick of a style after a few books or a few years? Will these books already be so beloved by children across America (or the world??) that changing it up will be impossible?

As I write this out now, I realize that this is more than unlikely. This is just simply not how life or art or books work. We are allowed to change, to grow, to create something wildly successful and then significantly less so. We are allowed to create without any success at all. (That last sentence hurt my feelings)

I have this idea of grandiosity about my own life that is wreaking havoc on my ability to create much of anything. If I don't create the very best thing anyone has ever seen, I don't want to create it at all. What a sad and small place to live, and yet....

Someone once said to me in an Instagram comment from 2015 (2014, maybe?) that I was "too talented not to be making money" in regards to my art. I cannot find this comment now (probably for the best), but I remember who made it. He was an internet friend named Ryan. At the time he was a lawyer for Nike and then miraculously became a SHOE DESIGNER for Nike in a twist of professional fate that happens to literally no one. Ryan must be the king of shooting his shot. I think I could learn a lot from Ryan.

I am the queen of shooting my shot when the stakes don't matter all that much to me. I've pivoted my career a handful of times, pursuing roles I was in no way qualified for. I regularly tried new hairstyles with varying degrees of success throughout my twenties and into my thirties. I've hit on truly an innumerable number of people even when I expected it to go nowhere. Mostly those experiences ended fine. Some were catastrophes (pixie cut). Some were wildly successful and fun (staging houses, moving to California, falling in love).

Shooting my shot when it does matter to me, however? Terrifying. Paralyzingly so. Out of the question. No fucking way.

And that is where I am getting in my own way when it comes to these books. I believe the next (possibly first) step in overcoming this fear is to just get to drawing. Just start drawing and then keep drawing over and over until I don't totally hate it and think it may be good enough for the tiny, yet undeveloped brains of this world.

For now, here are some of the images inspiring me:

[billowingwaves]

and the walls are tumbling down [2. revelation]

Matoba finds out a clan secret.

He is Not Happy with it.

It takes effort not to splutter when Matoba realizes what the boy said.

"Grandfather?" he echoes. "What did you say your name was, again?"

The boy furrows his brows and gathers his kimono, arranging them to drape over his form in a slightly less haphazard fashion. This allows Matoba to catch a glimpse of the designs on the fabric, and it takes his breath away to see containment seals, everywhere.

A mere glimpse shows him ones that cut off Sight, ones that dampen sensitivity, ones that encourage ignorance, lining the kimono like decoration.

"Natsume Takashi," says the boy, now standing straight. He raises a thin hand to brush strands of hair out of his eyes and looks at Matoba curiously. "You can go now, you know."

Matoba isn't listening. He's gone to peer around book shelves—in the process discovering a hammock bed, several beanbags, and a stool—to find those seals he'd caught sight of earlier.

He straightens, grim-faced. The seals guard the Cardinal Entrances, fence the Eight Corners, keeps the Four Temperaments checked tight—whoever placed these seals might not have been neat, but was certainly thorough.

Matoba looks over his shoulder at the boy, who is picking up the textbook, dusting it off, and placing it back on the shelf with a misplaced gentleness.

Such seals would've rendered an atmosphere heavier than any ayakashi can stand. Even for some weak exorcists, the oppressive air such combinations of seals creates would've been too much.

Yet the boy...Even with such seals sown into the very fabric he's wearing...

He's standing in the light of the skylight now, humming tunelessly. When he notices Matoba looking, he smiles. "Those paper slips have been there since I came here. Do you like them? There's a whole section on the rules of drawing them over there."

He points, but Matoba doesn't move.

"Are you a yōkai, Natsume-kun?" he asks, never one for beating around the bush.

Natsume tilts his head, causing a waterfall of hair.

"Yōkai?" he repeats, mystified. "What's that?"

"These." Matoba picks up the textbook, flips open to a page particularly full of sketches, and shows Natsume.

"Oh," Natsume peers at the drawings, a faint smile on his lips. "Them? They're my friends.” The smile grows wistful. "I haven't seen them since my last fitting though; Grandfather sent word that they've left. I wouldn't mind being one of them."

With a long, longing look towards the skylight, Natsume gives his head a small shake. Golden hair shimmer like rivulets of light. Matoba blinks.

"They aren't yōkai, surely. They aren't monstrous, they bring me gifts and feathers—I still keep them, but don't tell Grandfather."

Bird yōkai bringing gifts? Matoba closes the book. He's never heard of such things.

"'Fitting'—for the kimono you're wearing?" Matoba indicates the purple fabric. It’s not really a kimono, now that he’s able to get a proper look. It’s more of sweeping robes with the idea of a kimono.

Natsume laughs in delight, a peal of tinkling bells that doesn't belong in a darkened, isolated warehouse. He does a small spin. "Pretty, isn't it? It's for my birthday!"

The fabric brushes Matoba's clothing. He doesn't smile, lips pressing into a thin line. Natsume's misplaced joy puts the taste of ash in his mouth.

"Who's your Grandfather?" he asks.

"You don't know him?" Natsume hops to a stop, taking a step closer. "Didn't he send you?”

The elders sent him.

"Send me to what?”

"To deliver my meals, of course," Natsume leans around Matoba on one foot, peering towards the stairs. "And everything else." The boy straightens, not having a line of sight. "No?”

Why did the elders send him? To remind him of his position? To say: 'see, it could've been much worse'?

Matoba crosses his arms to make sure he doesn't do something he'll regret and keeps his expression carefully neutral. "Tell me about your Grandfather."

The boy's smiles is suddenly dimmed. "Grandfather... I haven't seen him in a long time. He brought me here, away from my horrible relatives. To be honest, I don't know much about him. I wanted to!" He adds, hurriedly, hands now wringing his clothing, rumpling the fabric. "But I didn't want to be a bother. He made the monsters go away like he promised, and gave me this place, so I'm very grateful. I just wish..."

He shakes his head violently, looking down. His voice is quiet, when he next speaks. "But you're here, so maybe..."

"Me?" Matoba almost takes a step backwards.

"No one stays when they visit, mister. No one talks to me like you did."

He has a sinking feeling.

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh, a while." Natsume picks up a lock of hair, then smiles sheepishly. "A long while?"

"Do you like it here? You mentioned monsters?"

"I do!" Natsume nods fervently, spreading his hands for emphasis. The action stirs up another spray of dust, the rays streaming through the skylight illuminating both him and the dancing motes. "There's even a window here, not like last time! The monsters don't come in here, either. No one comes in here, really."

The boy is quiet for a second. "I have the books, though, that's enough."

There's something ugly uncoiling in Matoba's gut. The more he stares at the boy gazing pensively out the skylight, the more his vision is overlaid with another scene. He blinks rapidly.

"I—“ He starts to say, but the boy's bright golden eyes meets his, and Matoba Seiji suddenly feels faint. "I should—"

"Go?" Natsume cuts in hurriedly. "Oh, please, can't you stay longer?" He makes a truncated lurching movement towards Matoba, then curls in on himself. "I'm not a very good host, I'm so sorry, all we did was stand and talk, the books said a host should serve tea and I don't—"

Stiffly, Matoba turns to leave. Natsume doesn’t follow him, and Matoba doesn’t let himself look back.

"You're welcomed to—" Natsume's call is abruptly cut off when Matoba passes the attic floor in his descent. A glance reveals the numerous silencing barrier charms stuck to the ceiling beneath the attic.

Feeling sick now, he starts to hurry.

There's nothing on the lower floor, and the door is an easily-identified block of darkness. Reaching it, Matoba presses a palm against the cool metal, taking a second.

Then he realizes he doesn't know how to get out.

He's not sure what the elders meant, throwing him into this blind, but it's not amusing.

He turns to lean against the door, trying to wrestle control over a breathing he doesn’t realize had quickened. The false darkness of the warehouse does not help with his imagination, and with the walls cracked and dams leaking from the encounter upstairs, unwanted memories of his own childhood comes flooding back.

Fingers curl into a fist and he slams it against the door. He's placed that behind him. He's risen above those old coots that used to dictate his life. He’s the one in control now.

Why? Why must they always remind him? He knows, goddammit.

Something whispers across the floor, and something soft grasps his arm, searching for his hand.

"You'll need this," says Natsume from the within the dark, so close that Matoba can feel his breath. Golden eyes, blinking blindly, emerge from the shadows as Matoba's sight adjusts itself.

Fingers press a slip of paper into his hand before drawing away.

Fabric shifts, and the boy's presence recedes.

Wait.

"You can leave?" Matoba breathes, incredulous, "Why don't you?"

The reply is soft, wavering, frightened, and comes from far away. "There are monsters out there I can't see.”

one. two. three. four. five. six.